


Catalogue

by loopah



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Riku is a big hipster, dumb dummies, rated T for boys in their underwear :o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopah/pseuds/loopah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sora pays a visit to Riku's apartment for the first time and feels decidedly out-of-place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catalogue

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to do something zesty but whenever i try to do it with these two things get goofy and dorky and embarrassing. unbeta'd, as per usual otl

Riku has always given off a very.. particular vibe. He uses expensive designer aftershave and has suede shoes in nearly every color; the inside of his car is spotless and smells like patchouli; he's been known to order flat whites. 

It's no secret that he's a little bit of a fruit-loop. 

Sora's known that since the beginning and been totally into it, because he's never been sanctimonious about it. He's still willing to eat cheap, greasy food and see gratuitously macho, decidedly non-arthouse action films, and to sit on the bleachers at Sora's lacrosse games, frying in the sun like an egg to a brilliant, stupid red and grinning from ear-to-ear. All it really takes is a minute of actual conversation with Riku to forget all of his apparent yuppie-hipster-snobbiness.

Sora is caught off-guard nonetheless, because Riku's bedroom takes yuppie-hipster-snobbiness to a whole other level. 

There are no lights, first and foremost. Well, there aren't any conventional light fixtures, more accurately; no floor lamps, no table lamps, none of those girly stringed fairy lights Sora was half-expecting (and half-dreading) to see. There is only a red glow emitted by a neon lettered sign, all-uppercase, that reads VACANCY -- all four of the white walls are empty except for it. His bed is a mattress, elevated a foot or so off of the floorboards by wooden palettes. His sheets are gray, and, by the looks of it, jersey, artfully unmade from their last use. Some books and his macbook sit on a desk at the opposite end of the room, and there's a stool tucked up underneath. There is an empty coffee cup on the floor by his bed, but otherwise the room is clutter-free. Riku walks over to a short pair of shelves and starts to sift through his music collection, leaving Sora standing rigidly in the doorway, hugging his backpack to his chest.

He feels like an idiot and a child, standing in Riku's Urban Outfitters catalogue bedroom wearing his thrift store Nikes, with which he's fairly certain he's just tracked mud with him into Riku's place. He's got a box of Whoppers and a pair of Hanes underwear in his bag, the kind that comes in the 6-pack in a plastic bag. Sora's got no place in a catalogue. He's never even set foot in an Urban Outfitters, and he tells Riku so.

"I've never been to Urban Outfitters," he blurts dumbly, and Riku snorts because he thinks he's making a crack about his decor.

"Most of it's IKEA, actually," Riku supplies, and that kind of makes Sora feel better because at least IKEA carries some stuff in his price range. "Shut the door, wise guy."

Sora remembers why they'd come over and his discomfort is displaced with a thundering herd of butterflies. He drops his backpack on the floor and closes the door, gently. In turning back around, he chides himself for being such a dork. He's not glamorous; hell, he's not even remotely fashionable but Riku knows that and he doesn't care. Sora might be a Coors Lite in a wine cooler, but who was he to complain if Riku was a sommelier who... also happened to love really shitty, cheap beer? _Note to self: come up with better metaphors._

Sora squints in the dim light at his boyfriend, stooping down by his- christ, is he putting on a fucking _vinyl?_ Roxas always says that Riku's basically a walking advertisement for American Apparel, and it's becoming increasingly hard for Sora to defend him when Riku just keeps proving Roxas right -- stooping down by his record player, all baseball tee and Warby Parkers, and feels a little bit more validated. 

"You like Natalie Merchant, right?" Riku jolts Sora out of his contemplation as he stands, dusting his palms on his corduroys.

Sora smiles brightly, shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah," he says. He doesn't know who that is. 

"Cool," Riku nods slightly, and there's a pause. Sora shifts uncomfortably.

"So-" he begins, weakly, just so that somebody's saying something, but he stops because all of a sudden Riku's just taking his shirt off. 

Which, he guesses, is okay too. 

It hits the floor and Riku looks at him half-expectantly, so Sora immediately kicks off his shoes and sheds his windbreaker, crossing the floor in his socks to close the distance. He starts working the buttons of his overshirt as he does.

"Okay, no preamble. That's fine." He feels warm, like his head is full of cotton-balls. Riku smiles at him, reaching forward to help speed Sora's unbuttoning. When all the buttons are loose, he pushes the flannel free of shoulders and it slides to the floor. Riku's hand settles on his hip, tugs at the hem of his henley.

"Is it?"

"Yeah." Sora lifts the hem up over his head, peels the sleeves off his arms. He starts to toe off his socks, but stops. "Are you gonna take your hair down?" he asks. Riku blinks.

"I can," he says, and he does, sliding the elastic around his wrist. He runs a hand back along his scalp, a little tender from the pull. Sora beams.

"Okay." And then his socks are off and he's wiggling out of his jeans, still smiling up at Riku reverently. Dork. Riku indulges him with a roll of his eyes before he goes to sit on his bed, stopping somewhere along the way to shuck his pants off. When he looks back at Sora, he's kneeling on the floor and digging through his records. 

"Uh," Riku blinks. "What's up?" Sora grins sheepishly at him over his shoulder, jerking his head in the direction of Riku's collection.

"I saw something I recognized," he explains, and Natalie Merchant comes to a halt when he lifts the needle. In another moment, a new song begins to play, and Riku nearly looses his shit.

"Sora," he says, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head so he can rub his face in anguish, embarrassment, and delight. "Sora, why?"

"This is what I want to listen to," Sora laughs and crawls over to the bed, wedging his body between Riku's knees and throwing his arms around his shoulders. Riku flops backward and radiates, shoving him good-naturedly. 

"I hate you," he says, and when Sora crawls on top of him with an expression of complete seriousness he cackles. 

"C'mon, Riku. Don't you want to _spice_ things up?"

"You're a dweeb."

"It's your record, Riku."

"It went platinum."

"Of course it did, it's a masterpiece."

"Can you please turn this off so we can fool around?"

"We can still fool around."

"I'm not fooling around to the Spice Girls."

"Aw, come on, Riku. Just tell me what you want."

"Don't."

"What you really, really want."

"Fuck you, you're the worst. You're the worst kind of person there is."

"Just tell me what you want, what you really, really want, Riku!"

It was then that Sora was toppled, and there was no fooling around to be done until several minutes later.


End file.
